


battered hearts can stop beating

by Roodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Barton Brood, Bat phone, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Dad!Tony, Depression, Domestic Avengers, Everyone's got guilt, Family, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Guilt, Heart Attacks, Medical Trauma, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Recovery, Service Dogs, Spiderling, Steve's got some guilt, Suicidal Ideation, TONY STAY IN BED, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Whump, Vision Can't Cook, and that's the problem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6824497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roodles/pseuds/Roodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“You can die of a broken heart — it's scientific fact — and my heart has been breaking since that very first day we met. I can feel it now, aching deep behind my rib cage the way it does every time we're together, beating a desperate rhythm: Love me. Love me. Love me.” </em><br/> <br/>Tony's heart gives up, and he thinks about giving up right along with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Story summary quote from Abby McDonald, Getting Over Garrett Delaney_
> 
> I've watched Civil War three times. I'm still processing all my feelings, but after trolling tumblr and seeing the terrifying murmurs of, "What if Tony's having heart problems?!" from the symptoms he displayed in-movie, I had to write a thing. 
> 
> It's a WIP, like everything else I write. Passing Grade fans, don't kill me. Tony fans, know he will be safe. It'll just take awhile. 
> 
> Also, hand wavy dubious medical things. I am not a doctor. And not beta'd. IDK.

Pepper Potts was intimately acquainted with Tony Stark’s antics. She’d stood by him for years, escorting one night stands out in the morning, plying him with pizza and alcohol to coax him into meetings, or to eat after spending two days straight inventing without sleep or food. 

She wasn’t acquainted with his bedside, or the slow rise and fall of a chest that was littered with scars underneath the hosptial gown, each carrying a story that he would never tell, as they were earned in a cave where many, though not all, of Tony’s demons were born. 

They had thought he was in the clear after getting the shrapnel removed. Pepper remembered watching the surgery with Jim, “clutching her pearls” as Tony would mock later. There wasn’t any more danger from slivers of metal threatening to shred his heart. He had a composite put in his chest, and everything had healed. 

But Tony Stark had a heart, and it had broken. 

FRIDAY had told Pepper it was takotsubo cardiomyopathy. The doctors had told her the same, but that it was often referred to as “broken heart syndrome”. Inordinate amounts of stress on an already weakened heart and lungs could trigger a reaction that was identical to a normal heart attack, though without the blocked arteries. It was the kind of heart attack that claimed people when their loved ones died. 

There was no surgery to be done, only medications and bedrest, and Pepper’s promise to keep him out of stressful situations, which was ironic considering he’d be stressed when he woke up to find her at his bedside. 

_His hair needs a trim_ , Pepper mused, as his mouth twitched in his sleep. She had to fight the urge to run her fingers through the brown mess that was in dire need of a comb. She couldn’t be that person anymore. Had chosen not to. Had chosen someone else. 

But there was no one else for him. At least no one with executive power over Tony’s welfare. Even though they had broken up, Pepper was still firmly written into his living will, and when she had gotten the call from a hospital in upstate New York she hadn’t hesitated to drive up. It was Tony. It would always be Tony, even if they weren’t together. 

“You drew the short straw,” a voice rasped, and Pepper jumped when she realized that Tony was awake, though his eyes were closed. 

He looked...tired. New lines had appeared around his mouth and his crow’s feet seemed more pronounced. He was toeing the line of gaunt, and Pepper wondered whose ass she’d have to kick for this. From what she had gathered from Jim and Vision, Steve Rogers was first in line. 

“I’m here because I want to be,” Pepper chided, though there was no heat in her tone. 

He’d scared her. This wasn’t Iron Man in the line of fire. This wasn’t a villain that could be fought against, not a drug that could be removed from her system with some experimenting. This wasn’t their house collapsing into the Pacific. This was Tony being painfully fragile and so damned _human._

“What happened?” He slurred, finally opening his eyes. 

Pepper’s heart broke when he looked at her. Tony Stark said so much with his eyes, and his reflected what the doctors had said. His heart was broken, and anyone with a brain could see it. While Tony wasn’t hers anymore, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t see the world burn on his behalf. 

“You had a heart attack,” she managed to say without crying. Again. 

“Huh,” he murmured, closing his eyes with a sigh. He didn’t seem particularly shocked by the fact. 

“Did you know it was going to happen?” Pepper asked, managing to keep the accusation out of her tone, but only just. 

“I’d had some chest pain after a fight. My left arm had gone numb, but I tallied it under getting my ass beat by a Russian popsicle,” he growled, and Pepper twitched when his heart monitor began beeping as his heart rate kicked. 

“ _Tony_ ,” Pepper pleaded, and he was looking at her again, vulnerability written plainly across his face and shining out of brown eyes. “You need to avoid stress. It was a different kind of heart attack. The doctors said you’re healthy, aside from the scarring,” she trailed off, gesturing at his chest. 

The damage to his heart and lungs from the arc reactor went unsaid. 

“Then how did I have a heart attack?” Tony quipped, sullen. _There_ was the Tony she knew. Only he looked far more broken than she remembered. But he was breathing heavily, and his heart rate was stabilizing, and she found that she could breathe easier before tackling the next part.

Oh, he wouldn’t like her explanation one bit. 

“It was takotsubo cardiomyopathy,” she hedged, then took a bracing breath and squared her shoulders. “Or Broken Heart Syndrome.” 

She could see the gears turning in that brilliant brain of his. She knew he’d heard of it, possibly mocked it at one point. Old women died of broken hearts. Only people who _had_ hearts could have them broken. 

“That’s ridiculous,” he sighed, but didn’t seem to have the energy to fight. “Patently ridiculous.”

“You’re on bed rest,” Pepper said, her voice firm. Even though she’d already arranged to leave him with Vision and Jim, who could hardly take care of themselves, let alone a recent heart attack survivor, she felt the need to give him marching orders before they went back to their very separate lives. “For at least a month. No suits, no flying off to Fiji.” 

Tony turned his head to glare at the opposite wall, leaving Pepper to stare at the delicate shell of his ear, that she’d spent more than one night tracing with...well, she couldn’t think of that anymore. He seemed to sink into the bed, radiating defeat and misery. She didn’t think the doctors would have to worry about him going against orders. 

“Done,” he croaked, still not looking at her. 

“You’ll be on medicines. A fair amount of them. Ideally taking it easy will be the answer, but if not...well, they mentioned transplants, but I wanted to wait until you woke up.” 

His shoulder twitched, the only indication that he’d heard her. 

“Tony, look at me,” she pleaded, not sure if she could deal with his scorn when she’d almost lost him in such a human way. 

“I think you should leave,” he said in lieu of looking at her, his voice quieter than she’d ever heard it. “I appreciate it. But I don’t think I can do this. Not right now.” 

If he’d been at full strength, Pepper would have dug her Jimmy Choos in and refused. But he was so damned vulnerable, so pale in contrast to the hospital gown. She didn’t want to stress him out. She didn’t want to cause him any more pain. 

“Okay Tony,” she conceded, then gathered her purse and stood. “Vision will pick you up once you’re discharged.” 

Tony’s slight nod was the only indication he gave that he’d heard. 

Sighing, Pepper tucked a lock of hair behind her ear then turned to the door, reaching it in three strides. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder, her voice soft. 

“I’m glad you’re alive, Tony,” she said in parting, then left him to his thoughts and his recovery. Her part was done. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update. I needed to do this, to frame what caused Tony's heart attack. Basically, Tony is reliving the betrayal he felt from the Accords/Siberia in stunning HD, all in one moment, experiencing a visceral loss that is so intense, it triggers the heart attack. He'd already shown signs during Civil War, so his already weakened heart just couldn't take it. 
> 
> He needs some hugs.

**One Day Earlier...**

Tony had been on stage when the chest pain had begun again. He'd put it out of his mind before and after Siberia, chalked it up to repeatedly getting a shield to the chest, and the press of jagged edges of gold titanium alloy against his sternum where the armor caved under the combined onslaught of a super soldier and his assassin boyfriend. 

His arm had hurt, but that had been the cars Wanda dumped on him. He really wished she'd stayed home, and not hurt Vision's feelings while wrecking the floor. But his arm was just bruised, and that was that. 

The pain came into aching clarity at a speech in front of UN delegates in New York shortly after the “Civil War”, where they had all assembled to listen to Tony prattle on about how those who signed the Accords were still reliable, how the remaining Avengers truly understood and respected the law. How Steve Rogers was a wanted man. How Captain America no longer stood for the “American Way”.

The words flowed, and the pain of the betrayal was renewed. Steve’s shitty letter came back to him in perfect eidetic clarity. The look on the man’s face when he admitted to knowing that Tony’s parents had been _murdered_ swam into his mind. Tony’s family, the people who he’d built a home for, who he wanted to _protect_ , had left him. He would have given them everything. He would have done anything to keep them safe, but it hadn’t been enough. _He_ would never be enough. He was losing them all over again, and there was an ache where the arc reactor used to be. 

Then pain lanced through his chest and down his arm, and he staggered forward to cling to the podium, a glass construct that did nothing to hide his weakness, and had the audacity to sway with his weight. He felt clammy. Sticky and cold, but hot at the same time, like when panic attacks gripped him and he felt like throwing up. His jaw ached, and tension locked his back up so tight that he gasped into the microphone, and someone's aid started yelling something that Tony couldn't understand. 

The podium was tilting, heading towards the ground and Tony couldn't stand anymore. He fell with it, a mess of agony and hazy sensations as people swarmed him, asking him questions in half a dozen languages until his vision blacked out. He welcomed it, and the ensuing silence. As his thoughts slipped away, he realized he could stop feeling so alone, if he wasn’t awake to feel anything at all.


	3. Chapter 3

The former Avengers, that is, Steve, Sam, Clint, and Wanda (plus Scott), were gathered around the table in the common room of the living quarters provided by T'Challa when they saw the news. 

Clint had jeered about watching Tony and his big news conference, understandably bitter about the Raft, but was silenced easily enough by Steve and the others. 

Steve knew what to expect. Or he thought he did, until he saw Tony on screen. The man wore a sharp, well tailored suit, looking like Tony Stark, but... Not. He’d been replaced by a gaunt man with hollow eyes that was unnerving to look at in comparison to Steve’s working memory of Tony.

The man on the television lacked his usual showman’s air. His speech, discussing the loyalty of the remaining Avengers to the Accords and how they would proceed after Leipzig, was read carefully and slowly from a teleprompter, laced with just enough emotion to fool the cameras, but Steve knew better. The man on the television wasn’t Tony, at least not the Tony they’d all come to know. 

The group seemed to shift as one as Tony faltered, his eyes dropping from the teleprompter to his hands, where they rested atop a handsome glass podium. The showman disappeared entirely as Tony detailed, in a flat voice how Captain America had been placed on an international watch list, and that the “American Way” he had stood for was no longer in line with America’s ideals. 

It cut Steve deep to think that America and its people might no longer trust Captain America with their safety, values, or their morals. He’d taken on the mantle to protect people, to stand up to bullies who beat down on the little guy. Captain America was who he was down to the marrow. Or so he’d thought. But when it came to Bucky, all bets were off, and Steve had demonstrated that fact well enough during the “Civil War”. He’d made his mistakes. They all had. With the perspective of time away from Tony and the politics of it all, Steve realized they could have done things very differently, and had hoped that by sending the letter to Tony, maybe they could bridge that gap someday.

Steve felt the shift in the room, a subtle shuffling and tension that built as they all watched Tony look at the camera, an expression of heartbreak etched into his features. It was the look of loss, one that Steve had seen too many times in his own reflection. Tony was breaking, and they had abandoned him right when he needed to be put back together. 

Just as he was going to call it and have Sam turn the TV off, Wanda gasped, having spotted something wrong before anyone else. Tony’s expression, captured in stunning clarity by the cameras trained on him, had morphed from grief to pain, his face a rictus of agony as he stumbled forward and clutched at the podium. 

The group as one leaned forward, sitting on the edge of their seats as Tony gasped something unintelligible into the microphone, his face twisting in apparent distress as his body betrayed him on national television. He had gone pale, and Steve felt something clench in his chest as Tony Stark toppled to the ground, the cameras trained on his fall while aides and leaders alike rushed to the unconscious man on the floor. 

It was like watching Bucky fall, in its own way. Steve could have stopped it, somehow. Or that’s what he told himself as he listened to Wanda’s soft sobs, and Clint’s angry muttering about how Tony always had to go and make things about him, though they all knew he didn’t mean it. 

“You alright?” Sam asked, his hand warm on Steve’s shoulder. Steve appreciated the contact, and how Sam always had his six, even when he didn’t know how to ask.

“I’m not the one we should be asking,” Steve replied, dropping his head into his hands. Everything had fallen apart, and he wasn’t sure how to put it back together. 

“We’ll check in on him. Somehow,” Sam soothed, squeezing Steve’s shoulder once before going to sit on the couch beside Wanda, who seemed to be taking the looped footage of Tony’s fall harder than anyone else. As she fell into Sam’s arms, Steve wondered how his family would weather this storm. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, everyone! Thanks for your continued comments and support for this fic! 
> 
> Hope everyone likes Ollie as much as I do!

Tony spent eight days in the hospital. Eight days full of a battery of tests and scans, all to prove that it really was takotsubo cardiomyopathy, and that Tony wouldn’t drop dead as soon as he stepped outside their sliding front doors. It would be bad hospital karma, and they really couldn’t have that on their collective publicity conscience, now could they?

He spent the majority of the time alone, staring at the wall and refusing to watch the highly televised spectacle of him collapsing on live, international TV. FRIDAY had helpfully compiled the reactions from major news sources and publications, and they were overwhelmingly positive, much to Tony’s dismay.

He didn’t want pity for his (literal) broken heart. He didn’t want a pass for his mistakes, especially with how numerous they were. He wanted his family, and he wouldn’t be getting them back. He wanted Rhodey’s injuries to disappear, to have never happened because Tony made a bad call.

Happy visited the most, citing the fact that Pepper was in the Tower and had a bevy of security guards on her detail, and that she could spare him for a few days. Tony didn’t begrudge the man his relationship with Pepper, or the fact that the head of SI security was quite responsible for stealing Pepper’s heart.

Tony had told Steve he and Pepper were “taking a break”. What he’d meant was, “Pepper is engaged to Happy and they’ll be married within the year.”

The man brought with him Tony’s phone and tablet, which were nearly left behind at the UN conference when he’d collapsed on stage and an overly enthusiastic first responder had practically stripped him and gotten up close and personal with a defibrillator.

Rhodey and Vision visited twice, under the cover of night so that Tony’s nurses wouldn’t get up in arms about stressing him out. Vision practiced “make Rhodey intangible”, which really consisted of a hideous fedora and a facial prosthesis that gave Rhodey a small resemblance to Neil deGrasse Tyson, which was _almost_ within the realm of possible visitors Tony might entertain.

Someone within the medical staff leaked the hospital where Tony was being treated, despite multiple NDA and confidentiality agreements signed in triplicate from everyone including Tony’s cardiologist to the suspiciously snarky janitor that dogged the attending Dr. Dorian during the daylight hours.

The leak resulted in a flood of get well soon cards, flowers, balloons, and stuffed Iron Man toys, and Pepper, clever, dastardly Pepper diverted all but the most heartfelt away from Tony’s room and to the other patients (though he was positive some of the flowers made it to the nurses’ stations and some nearby cemeteries.)

He’d made a habit of reading them, especially the ones that were in crayon, because the gratitude of children was easier to bear than their adult counterparts. Kids didn’t know any better, didn’t know that they had every reason to vilify him with hate mail and nasty Tweets. It wasn’t enough to make up for his sins, for the guilt that bore down on him when his mind produced “Charlie Spencer” at inconvenient intervals, but it helped.

Once he was cleared for takeoff, Tony was carted back to the Avengers compound, since Pepper had an apartment in formerly Avengers-once-again-Stark-Tower, and they felt it would be best if he had people who didn’t really have day jobs looking after him, namely Rhodey and Vision.

Rhodey had gotten pretty slick on his bionics, and Vision had been practicing with the microwave, or so Tony was told, so Pepper had felt reasonably comfortable dumping Tony on them so she could run his company in relative peace. It didn’t have the sting of abandonment that their breakup did, but there was a caveat, and his name was Ollie.

 

* * *

 

“A heart sniffer,” Tony said dubiously as he was wheeled into the main living area of the Avengers compound, flanked by Rhodey and Vision. (Vision had insisted he stay in his wheelchair until he was situated, and Tony had gotten tired of arguing the point before he’d even left the hospital) Pepper was perched upon one of the plush couches, and there was a dog panting happily at her knee. _An actual dog._

“Oh yeah. His nose is broken, so living with Tony Stank is the perfect job for him,” Rhodey quipped, and Tony didn’t hesitate to reach up and smack Rhodey’s arm.

Rhodey batted his hand away, shooting Tony an entirely unimpressed look that was interrupted by Vision’s overly-polite throat clearing.

“If I may, Mr. Stark,” Vision began, and Tony rolled his eyes. He couldn’t stand the formal bullshit, and someday he’d get the android to call him Tony. The ultimate proof he wasn’t JARVIS and never fucking would be. “The dog’s sensory intake is actually highly developed, and Colonel Rhodes is...hm, pulling your leg, as it were.”

“Thanks. I would have never guessed,” Tony deadpanned.

Vision looked pleased with himself, and Tony didn’t have the heart to tell him that Rhodey was full of shit on a good day, and that the “Tony Stank” joke would never die if James Rhodes had any say on the matter.

“He’s a service dog, Tony,” Pepper broke in, most likely at the end of her patience. Tony was surprised she’d come back to the compound, but couldn’t deny the frisson of pleasure he felt skating down his spine at seeing her. A kneejerk reaction after over a decade of knowing and being attracted to her, he supposed.

“And I thought the vest was purely for aesthetic,” Tony said with a mock gasp, barely managing not to flinch at Pepper’s return glare.

“He’s been trained to sense stress, possible heart attacks, and his entire job is to keep you happy. He’s worked with people with PTSD, depression, and a lot of other things that are detailed in his paperwork,” Pepper continued, as if Tony hadn’t opened his mouth.

He really did flinch at PTSD, and even as he began to deny every word Pepper just said, he felt a tongue lapping at his fingertips. Assuming it wasn’t Rhodey, Tony looked down at the dog, who had crept forward and was looking for all the world like Tony had the answers. Which he didn’t, as had been proven to him quite painfully by Steve Fucking Rogers and his Merry Band of Asshats.

“I don’t need a dog, Pepper,” Tony protested, though he didn’t look away from the dog that was still slowly inching forward.

“Maybe _I_ need a dog, and I just can’t take him out because, you know…” Rhodey trailed off, and Tony felt every muscle in his back lock up in tension, an agony that made him bite back a moan.

“I have a solid sleep schedule,” Rhodey finished, and Tony grabbed the nearest chuckable object, which happened to be one of Vision’s chess pieces, and tossed it in the direction of Rhodey’s head. Vision grabbed it before it could clock his best friend, but Tony was already lost in racing thoughts before he could register his bitter disappointment at the android’s interference.

On one level, he was glad that Rhodey was cracking jokes. They all needed intense amounts of therapy, but Rhodey seemed to have come out of it smelling like daisies and with a newfound sense of gallows humor that made Tony want to laugh and cry in equal measures. On an entirely different level, Tony didn’t want him to make jokes about it. Didn’t want him to make light of one of the worst days of Tony’s life, which included a bomb exploding and being conscious during open heart surgery.

He was dimly aware of someone speaking, but a roaring was filling his ears and he was finding it hard to breathe, and he was watching Rhodey fall and Steve’s shield was coming down, down, down, and he didn’t have his helmet and--

A heavy, solid weight was on his lap. Something cold was nudging at his neck, insistently searching and bumping until it hit Tony’s cheek. Then it was replaced with velvet and...oh god, it was all over his face, leaving him sticky and crashing back into reality to find the dog had hopped on his lap and was licking him incessantly, its paws providing an anchor on his shoulders as it very thoroughly and eagerly lapped at his face.

Apparently realizing Tony had been brought back from the brink of a dark, flashback-tinged abyss, the dog sat back on its haunches and stared at Tony with an intensity that belied an intelligence hidden underneath a very fluffy exterior.

“Good...good dog,” Tony murmured, raising his hands to frame the dog’s face, rubbing behind its ears.

Finally remembering he had an audience, Tony looked over to find three faces in various states of joy and smug superiority. Pepper looked like she was about to cry, and Vision just looked pleased as punch, and stepped forward to hand Tony a treat, which he promptly gave to the dog who had decided to stay on his lap and keep him grounded.

“You’re not going to wallow,” Rhodey stated, making his way to the sofa to sit down next to Pepper. “Dogs need to be walked. Fed. You can’t hole up in your lab and stare at that stupid phone and write in your diary about how emo you feel. This furball will make sure you don’t truly become Tony Stank.”

Tony’s nose wrinkled, and he couldn’t imagine actually writing in a diary like a twelve year old tween. He was guilty, however, of spending innumerable hours staring at the “bat phone” Steve had sent, and he’d skipped a fair amount of showers in the past weeks while going over their “Civil War” with a fine toothed comb in his mind, looking for different angles, different outcomes.

The dog started licking him again, and Tony bit back a curse as its tongue lolled out of its mouth, looking entirely too happy considering the fact that his circulation was cut off from the knee down.

“He’s young,” Pepper interjected, and Tony almost got whiplash from looking back at her. “From my research, this breed may take awhile to mature. You’re going to have to take him outside to exercise, and continue his training. He’s ready and certified as a service dog, but you’ll have to keep working with him. He’s going to be good for you, Tony,” Pepper finished, her tone going soft, in that way Tony knew meant she was worried, but was also thinking about how much liquor she had left in her apartment.

“You know...I...I’m not good at taking care of things,” Tony choked out, hating the weakness, the obvious tell. His eyes burned, and his hands automatically sought the dog, fingers tangling in soft, curly fur. He had already failed his people, his family. How could he take care of a dog?

“We will help,” Vision said, his voice a soft reminder of long nights spent with JARVIS, his only partner besides a bottle and the ghosts of his father and Yinsen looming over him. Nights where JARVIS had been a quiet overseer of Tony’s demons, gently suggesting Tony sleep, or perhaps switch to water instead of another cup of coffee.

“S’not going to be easy,” Tony said thickly, hating himself. Hating Steve, Sam, Clint, and Wanda. Hating everything that had led to the dissolution of his family, but especially his own hands as they had rent destruction upon everything they touched.

The dog was licking him again, and Tony realized in a distant way that he was crying, and his chest hurt and he fumbled for the morphine pump he no longer had, because he couldn’t stand the pain of literal fucking heartbreak. Vision shook exactly two pills into his palm and offered them to Tony, and he briefly considered enrolling him in Boy Scouts before he dry swallowed the painkillers.

“Nothing worth having ever is,” Rhodey said, and Tony loved him so desperately in that moment it took him a few seconds to find actual words.

“Thanks, Fortune Cookie,” Tony finally spat, but without venom. “Your wisdom is appreciated. So…” He trailed off, looking at the dog still sprawled on his lap. “What’s...uh, what’s its name?”

“Oliver,” Pepper supplied, cracking a smile that didn’t make Tony want to throw himself off a bridge. Well, maybe a little. But it wasn’t so bad. Not with Oliver nosing his fingers with the investigative drive of a toddler with an electric socket.

“Oh god, by the Dickens,” Tony moaned, then looked back at the dog. “No way. No fucking way am I going to be out and about with an _Oliver_ ,” Tony grumbled.

The dog’s ears perked up, and instantly he’d gone from a lazy sack of fluff to the service dog he’d been trained to be.

“Ollie,” Tony decided, then and there. “He’s gonna be Ollie, and we’re going to watch shitty reality TV. I’ll teach him insurance fraud. Won’t I, Ollie?” Tony asked, rubbing between the dog’s ears with one of those stupid baby voices he detested, but used purely for the look of outraged disgust on Rhodey’s face.

“Does this mean I am the _pack leader_?” Tony asked, in his best impression of Cesar Millan.

The slap of Rhodey’s hand to his forehead was like a gunshot in the living space, and Tony couldn’t fight the snicker that crept up his throat. It felt good to laugh, a release of tension he’d been carrying for so damned long.

Rhodey’s returning smile turned soft around the edges, and after a moment of struggling and whirring of tiny little servos, there was a hand in his hair, ruffling the same way it did thirty years prior when Rhodey discovered a mouthy freshman about to get his ass beat in the MIT student union.

“Sure thing, Tones,” Rhodey replied. “Believe whatever you want.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ollie is a rust/red curly coated retriever. They're highly intelligent, but take awhile to mature, and from what I've seen make great service dogs! 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hello everyone!! I hope that you are all well, and I apologize for the delay in updates! Since _battered hearts_ was an impulse fic anyways, deciding what to write has been difficult. This chapter is mostly about Tony and Natasha, with lots of cute Ollie thrown in because I love him. Seriously. This dog. 
> 
> Remember that comments are love, and they really do help me keep going. Thanks for all the feedback, and if you'd like to see anything in particular, I'm open for inspiration ♥! (Seriously.)
> 
> Unbeta'd, as per usual c:

Natasha hadn’t planned on coming back to the compound so soon, if ever. She and Tony had traded barbed insults, meant to cut to the quick and leave each other vulnerable. A rift had formed between them, and it hadn’t been pretty. She wasn’t too proud to admit that it had hurt, but with perspective she realized she may have been feeling rather raw from the whole “Civil War” ordeal. No doubt Tony felt the same way.

She had her regrets. She’d made her mistakes, put the red in her ledger. But it was guilt that brought her back. Guilt that she had ignored several obvious signs that Tony was Not Okay, but had allowed his flimsy reassurances to coax her into believing that he would be fine, because he was an expert at cheating death.

If anyone could survive, it was Tony. But this time his heart had literally broken, and she was uncomfortable with the regrets and slight sense of shame that rode her shoulders. In the aim of clearing her ledger of inconvenient feelings, she’d headed back to the compound, only to be met in the common area by a dog, of all things.

The dog was a rich russet color, that stood nearly at her waist with a curly coat, intelligent eyes, and a red vest with gold stitching that spelled “SERVICE DOG” in bold letters.

Underneath was a more delicate looping stitch that spelled “Ollie”, and Natasha found it comforting that Jim had gotten a service dog to aid him during his recovery. Tony had probably orchestrated it from the vest’s colors, and maybe, just maybe the dog would have some residual effects on Tony. Or maybe hell would freeze over before that man got help for his multitude of issues.

The dog was apparently well trained, as it hadn’t moved an inch from its position between the couch and the doorway to the bedrooms, where Jim had most likely taken up residence while Tony funded his recovery.

A slight wag of its tail let Natasha know she wasn’t entirely unwelcome, but she was well aware that the dog was working if he was wearing his vest, and that it had deliberately positioned itself between the outside world and its master.

Deciding she could be patient, Natasha set her duffle bag down on the nearest couch, perching on its arm while settling in to wait for Jim to emerge and put the dog at ease.

 

* * *

 

It had been two weeks since Ollie had come into Tony’s life. Learning to take care of a dog had been an education in and of itself, and Tony had learned early on that Ollie wasn’t afraid to let Tony know that he was hungry, or that he wanted to play. Usually by soulful eyes that Tony had no natural resistance to.

They had weathered several panic attacks, a few nightmares, and a heart scare together in those two weeks, and Tony realized, perhaps begrudgingly, that Ollie was a good idea. The dog was goofy, and hardly out of puppyhood, but he’d already proved his worth.

After speed reading countless books and several iterations of Dogs For Dummies, Tony had hauled a crate into his bedroom, with the idea that Ollie would sleep there and Tony would retain the sanctuary of his king size bed. That had lasted all of one night because Ollie was a cuddler, and very clever when it came to undoing the bolts on his crate. Tony had huffed out a sigh when he felt the dog’s head on his thigh, but instead of sending the dog back to bed, he’d threaded his fingers through silken fur and drifted off into a better night’s sleep than he’d had in months.

The compound itself was soon flooded with toys, bought by Vision, Rhodey, and Tony because his dog might be a service dog, but he deserved to have fun. A lot of it, if the amount of toys were any indication. Dog beds began appearing and dotted every room, living area, and even the kitchen, which already sported an engraved water and food bowl set in Iron Man red and gold, which was Rhodey’s idea of a joke.

Ollie ensured that Tony got fresh air every day; no matter how much he bitched and moaned, Ollie’s puppy eyes were a force of nature. So he and his dog would go for a stroll around the compound, not yet a run because Tony wasn’t allowed to overexert himself, Doctor’s Orders. Instead, he brought a tennis ball and tossed it for his over eager dog, who nearly tripped over his own paws in his enthusiasm every. Single. Time.

A lot of their time was spent together just hanging out. Either just the two of them, or in tandem with Vision and Rhodey (but not Pepper. Never Pepper.) When Tony wasn’t fending off Ross or the UN, or in talks with King T’Challa, he and his dog just chilled, which was 100% Tony’s speed after Siberia and nearly dying (again).

A great deal of time went into Tony staring at the phone Steve had sent, and mentally tracing every loop of Steve’s handwriting and feeling bitter all over again from the repeated sting of betrayal. While he’d burned the letter on a pyre with the first draft of the Accords and any remaining paper trails speculating Bruce’s whereabouts , he’d dedicated Steve’s words to memory, if only to remind himself that Tony Fucking Stark was ultimately culpable for the disintegration of his family.

Sometimes it took him awhile to realize he’d been in a staring contest with the Batphone. In the last two weeks, Ollie would usually take Tony’s wrist in his teeth, not actually biting, but with just enough gentle pressure to bring Tony out of his reverie.

Not sure how long he’d been at it, Tony shook his head to clear out the muzziness of recollection, then checked his watch. It was nearly four o’clock, which meant snack time for both Tony and Ollie. In a concession to the Dynamic Duo (AKA Rhodey and Vision), Tony had promised to emerge from his lair and eat something every day at four, or thereabouts, with the added benefit of giving Ollie a snack too, and then taking him out for a walk after.

Dogs liked schedules, apparently. And if it happened to coincide with Tony taking his heart meds, well that was an interesting fact that he would never acknowledge.

Standing up from his perch on the edge of his bed, Tony groaned as what seemed like every single vertebra popped in his spine. Everything just...ached. It was bone deep, and he wasn’t sure if it would ever go away. His doc had mentioned physical therapy, and some kind of pain management, but Tony had balked at the notion. He’d been careful to stay off the _really_ good stuff, because a)they’d mess with his head and b)maybe the pain was penance. Not that he’d say it out loud.

Sighing, Tony dragged a hand over his face, thumb rubbing absently against his beard as he looked around for Ollie. Usually the dog stuck to him like glue, unless he was hungry, so it was strange that his shadow was absent from the room. Maybe he got bored? Watching Tony watch the Batphone had to rank pretty low in a dog’s highlights of life.

Thinking maybe Rhodey had stolen Tony’s dog (again), he left his room to trudge out to the common area, his attention on the kitchen to his right as he called out, “Ollie Ollie oxen free!”

He heard the jingle of Ollie’s collar, and Tony looked up in time to catch Natasha’s startled expression before his dog rounded the corner of a couch, his tail wagging even as he settled into a ready position at Tony’s side.

Reaching down, Tony rubbed Ollie between the ears, as much for the dog as himself as he processed what Natasha’s presence could mean. His chest twinged a bit at the idea of her coming to finish off the job, though that was absolutely irrational. What more did she want? She’d already called him egotistical and told him to watch his back. Was she back to deliver on that? Was she there to convince him that Steve was right? That all of this was some misunderstanding, and America’s former golden boy had the way of it?

With his thoughts rapidly spiraling down, down, down, Tony felt himself slipping into yet _another_ panic attack, which made him panic even more. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, why was she here? Why now? Why why why-

At some point, his ass had made contact with the floor, but that wasn’t what jarred him. It was Ollie in his lap, shoulder pressed tight against his chest as he lapped at Tony’s ear. He was whining, a last ditch effort to bring Tony back to the present, and Tony couldn’t help but wrap his arms around his dog and hold him tight (but not too tight). The scent of vanilla and bergamot (a joke played by Rhodey, when he spritzed Tony’s dog with “Sexy Beast Dog Perfume”) filled his nose, further grounding him while Ollie’s whines tapered off.

Risking a glance up at Natasha, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to see. Certainly not her pity. Maybe some emotion other than bitter hatred for him. Their gazes met; Natasha’s was passive, though her brows were furrowed in thought. Tony knew that there were tears in his eyes, from being dragged down too far, too fast.

Ollie, the saint that he was, merely stood still and allowed Tony to grip his vest for extra support while he got his shit together. Yeah, healing was a process, but it pissed him off at how long it was taking. Granted, he did have nearly eight recent years of unresolved issues to wade through, not to mention the thirty plus before that.

“Okay, pup,” Tony murmured, rubbing Ollie’s ears one last time. “Let’s go to work.”

With the patience years of training afforded, Ollie moved off of Tony’s lap and sat at attention, waiting for his next command. “Work” had been uttered, and Ollie was very good at what he did. Groaning, perhaps more than necessary, Tony used the nearest couch to lever his ass up off the floor, immensely grateful that Natasha hadn’t offered to help him.

“I thought he was Jim’s,” Natasha said as Tony practically fell onto the couch.

Squirming a bit to get comfortable, Tony patted the couch cushion for Ollie. Natasha could wait. Ollie leapt up with the grace that all dogs just out of puppyhood had, which was none. He whuffed and huffed while getting comfortable, adorkable noises that ended when Ollie eventually dropped his head on Tony’s thigh. Sighing, Ollie twitched himself a bit until his belly was exposed and one leg was in the air, then gave Tony a look as if to say, “ _What? You let me on your expensive ass couch. I’m gonna be comfy.”_

Or maybe not. Ollie seemed more pure than Tony’s internal dialogue painted him to be. Rolling his eyes, he buried one hand in Ollie’s fur before looking at Natasha again. He noticed she had a duffel, which probably meant she aimed to stay, at least for a little while. He hadn’t emptied out her quarters, so the rest of her clothes were there if she wanted them.

“Why are you here?” Tony rasped, feeling his free hand clench where it rested on the arm of the couch. He intended to sidestep the matter of Ollie entirely, at least for now.

“Guilt,” she replied immediately, squaring her shoulders in a movement that Tony knew was entirely calculated.

She was a _spy_. How was he supposed to trust anything she said? After everything that had happened, how was he supposed to discern her true intent?

“That’s not my problem,” Tony quipped, looking away.

“Fair enough,” she murmured, then slid off her perch and onto the couch cushions. Her shoulders sagged, and out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw her chin dip towards her chest. It had probably been a tactical maneuver on her part, but maybe it wasn’t.

She looked like Tony felt: _tired_.

“What happened, Tony?” She asked, her voice soft in the quiet hush of the common room, which had been busier, as of late.

Tony had taken to playing chess with Vision (a pathetic attempt to reconcile Vision and the loss of JARVIS), and Rhodey rattled around loud enough that it never seemed wholly quiet. Ollie had brought life back to the compound, even if it was just for two bachelors and an android, but it had been the difference between a prison sentence and recovery for Tony.

“I had a heart attack,” Tony said, his voice flat. “What more is there to it?”

“It wasn’t a regular heart attack,” Natasha riposted, shifting forward on the couch cushions before going in for the kill. “It was broken heart syndrome. You’re as healthy as you could be without the arc reactor. I know you cut back on the booze, and you’re not a slouch. How does a healthy man have takotsubo cardiomyopathy?” She pressed.

“Did you look at my blood tests too? Read the results of my urine samples, maybe?” Tonz growled, not willing to play her games.

“Your condition was public knowledge,” she pointed out. “In fact, the public was so worried, they organized vigils in the first few days. What triggered it, Tony? What made your heart break?” She continued, and it felt like an interrogation.

“I don’t _know!_ ” Tony snapped, his shout loud in the stillness of the room.

Groaning, Tony brought both hands up to cover his face, disgusted at the minute tremble in his fingers.

“Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“I have red in my ledger,” Natasha said simply, and Tony immediately dropped his hands into his lap with a scowl.

“I’m not a mark in your goddamned ledger, Romanoff,” he snarled, jerking when Ollie nosed at his wrist and then licked the back of his hand, reminding him to take it down a notch. His chest was hurting, and it was vaguely reminiscent of being at the podium, and reliving the betrayal.

“Why couldn’t you just betray me and then stay away? Why come back? I’m not some kind of absolution of your sins. I’m fucking broken and messed up. Why not go find Rogers and play in the jungle with the rest of his dissenters?”

“Because you deserve better than that,” she replied, her brow furrowed. “I let you tell me you were okay, and let myself believe it. I left you hurting, because I was hurting-”

When Tony opened his mouth to dispute the fact she held a hand up, her gaze pure steel.

“Let me finish, Tony. Steve is one of my best friends. I have very few, and three of them landed on the wrong side of the Accords. I knew he wouldn’t stop, and so did you.”

Her pointed look made him look away, heaving a sigh that rattled in his chest. The worst part? It was true; Rogers was a determined sonofabitch, and he wouldn’t have stopped. He didn’t stop. He’d even left his team behind on his sojourn to Siberia with Barnes.

The thing was, Tony didn’t know what they could have differently at Leipzig. Sure, there were alternative tactics that could have been employed. Or Tony and Steve could have sat down like rational fucking adults. But maybe the time for that had passed by the time they met on the tarmac.

“But I left you anyways, and I regret that. I regret that Steve wasn’t on board, but you shouldn’t have been left to pick up the pieces.”

“I don’t particularly care what did or did not drive Rogers to the brink of single-minded insanity. I care about why you’re here now, asking to move back in. I don’t want your fucking pity, Nat. I just want answers.”

“What happened in Siberia, Tony?” She asked instead.

As if slapped, Tony jerked back against the couch, feeling winded. Ollie rumbled a bit and climbed into his lap, and Tony gripped his dog’s vest like a lifeline. How could he possibly describe what had happened there?

“Rogers and I got into a little tiff. I’m afraid he got all the kids in the divorce,” Tony answered, his voice shaking.

Suddenly it dawned on him. More than one person had been with Rogers when SHIELD went to shit and Hydra had reared its ugly mug. Romanoff had probably known with intimate certainty that Barnes had killed his parents. She’d gained the knowledge at the same time as Spangles, he was sure. He understood why _she_ didn’t tell him. Romanoff was all about the long game, keeping ahold of the steering wheel in the best direction. She was always plotting and planning, keeping in with her good ‘ol spy days. Her betrayals had never stung as much as Rogers’. From the onset, she was a needle in his neck, one well crafted lie after the other. He’d known better to trust her, but he’d done it anyways, hoping she could shoulder the burden of the Accords with him, and maybe talk their family off the brink of full on estrangement. At least she’d been in character; he’d give her that much.

“Is that it?” She asked, and he felt like she was pressing his buttons. One by one, an inexorable crawl to another breakdown.

Closing his eyes, his reply was just a whisper. “ _Please_...just drop it, Nat.”

Natasha allowed silence to settle between them, if only for a moment.

“Steve invited me to stay with them,” she said, somewhat offhandedly.

“Maybe your sleepovers would be more fun with Mystery Inc. I hear Lang makes a good Scooby,” Tony spat, curling towards his dog. Ollie had clambered further into his lap, and he needed to send Pepper a thank you card or something.

“I don’t really want to try and braid Clint’s hair,” she murmured, clasping her hands together as she leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees.

“Ruh oh,” Tony grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Sighing, Natasha let her head tip forward, her hair a curtain over her features. Maybe she was schooling them for her next deadpan betrayal. He wouldn’t be surprised.

“I just want a chance, Tony. We need to rebuild from somewhere.”

In a split second decision he decided to open the flood gates. He hadn’t told anyone about what had happened. Not much of it, at least. Just the bare minimum. With Ollie a solid presence on his lap, Tony realized maybe they both needed to hear this.

“When I was up on that podium, it all hit me again,” he blurted out, not even taking a moment to steel himself for the unpleasant wellspring of feelings to bubble up. “He left me there. With no suit. No help. No comm. If I’d had my arc reactor, I’d have been fucked. Up shit creek without a goddamn paddle. And very dead. Granted, I wanted to kill Barnes. I wanted to beat him into a pulp for what he took from me. But he’d been subdued. It was just me’n Cap at that point.”

Taking a deep breath, Tony steeled himself for what came next.

“I have nightmares about the shield. I thought _for sure_ that he was gonna bring that fucking frisbee down on my face. I thought it was the end. This was it, Captain Fucking America was going to kill me. Totally fitting, right? Then he slammed it into the power supply of the suit. Y’know, the equivalent of my fucking heart. Good thing I got that shit taken care of, right?”

He didn’t want to look at her. Didn’t want to see any expression on her face that might be pity, or understanding, or anger. Fuck her. Fuck ‘em all.

“Then he leaves me there, and sends me this shit letter a few weeks later. Says he’s been alone since he was 18, blah fucking blah, said the “Avengers are yours now”,” he snapped, complete with air quotes. “What fucking Avengers? Rhodey is decom, Vision is pining, I’m just a useless motherfucker with heart issues in a tin can. You were in the wind, everyone else has fucked off to Wakanda to play supporting roles in The Jungle Book. And I had to tell whole goddamned world that Captain America doesn’t stand for America anymore. That half the Avengers decided they could eschew authority and consequences and broke a shitton of laws and I’m _still_ sorting through the bullshit. I had to stand there and admit to the world that half my fucking _family_ was gone, and that they were criminals. It was like reliving it all over again.”

God, his chest hurt. The doctor said no stress, but Natasha’s presence was the _epitome_ of stress. He rubbed at his sternum, then frowned as Ollie clambered off his lap and trotted in the direction of the bedroom.

“Then you show up. Saying you feel guilty. Saying all this shit and I want to know why you even fucking care, because it sure didn’t seem like it a few months ago.”

Closing his eyes, Tony took a shuddering breath, thankful that he wasn’t on the cusp of another panic attack. A heart attack maybe, if his chest pain was any indication, but he couldn’t tell. If only his heart would do things properly. If it wanted to kill him, it should just get on with it.

He was drawn from his morbid line of thinking when something slightly wet was pressed into his hand. Opening one eye, he realized that Ollie had run off to get his medicine, because it was his job. Heartsniffer dog indeed.

“Go get water, Ollie,” Tony said in a gentle command once he’d taken the bottle of pills. Unscrewing the lid, he tapped two into his palm, far more patient with his dog than he would have been with a nurse, or even Rhodey or Vision.

Ollie returned only moments later, having grabbed a bottle from the bin they’d set up for just that purpose. He was practically grinning around the plastic, his tail wagging as he deposited the semi-drool covered prize into Tony’s free hand.

Making quick work of the medicine, Tony smiled at his dog, framing Ollie’s face with his hands. His ears were soft, and his tongue lolled in apparent pleasure as Tony told him how good of a dog he was, and that Scooby could suck it.

“He’s good for you,” Natasha stated, reminding Tony that she was there. “I should’ve seen it earlier. Or maybe I didn’t want to see it. You practically scream PTSD.”

“I think you need sensitivity training,” Tony responded, but without any bite. He was too damned tired.

“I was wrong about you,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “You’re still a narcissist. But you’ve earned it. And that’s the only concession I’ll make to your ego,” she said when he opened his mouth.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Tony grumbled, inordinately pleased when Ollie jumped back onto the couch and immediately began imitating a barnacle.

“You let your guilt rule you, but maybe that’s a good thing. It keeps you in check. I’d hate to see you as a supervillain,” she said with a soft laugh, but he really wished she’d stop talking.

Laughing weakly, Tony pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. Not that he hadn’t briefly considered villainy, among the many betrayals during the shitfest that his life had become. Perhaps if there had been no Ho Yinsen, Tony’s path might have strayed, or even detoured in an entirely different direction.

“You care, Tony. I know you do. You lost more than Steve did, and I’m...sorry, for not realizing that sooner. I should know better than anybody how well you respond to life and death experiences.”

 

“Jesus Christ, lay off the touchy feely shit. I don’t know how you manage to be apologetic and yet completely unrepentant in the same breath. Seriously, it’s cool, it’s fine. Whatever. We’ll exchange some friendship bracelets later.”

“I’m going to be here for awhile,” she continued. “Laying low, deciding what I want to do.”

“Please behave. Ross is too far up my ass right now for you to go off and start blowing shit up or deciding that the life of a criminal with Rogers is suddenly your life’s dream.”

Natasha chuckled at that, then gathered her duffel and got to her feet. Crossing the short distance between couches, she stopped next to him, then seemed to hesitate. Raising an eyebrow, Tony tilted his head back, wondering what her game was.

“Don’t make it weird,” she warned, then raised her hand and rested it on Tony’s head. He felt her fingers thread through his hair, and it was so simple, so fucking simple. Yet he still shuddered and closed his eyes, and allowed her this moment, his mind racing back to a time when she had dabbed makeup on his face and answered his not-so-veiled questions about death and regrets.

They stayed like that for a few moments, sharing each other’s space without insults or betrayal, and Tony realized how he missed contact, how he missed his family and the nearness of others that had no strings (or maybe only a few strings) attached.

With one last pass of blunt nails against his scalp (she was eerily good at it), Natasha moved away, and Tony belatedly realized there were tears in his eyes. Ollie whined a little, because he didn’t appreciate not being the center of attention (the dog was obviously Tony’s destiny), but he was quelled by Tony petting his flank.

“I stole my hoodie back,” Tony called as she walked down the hallway towards her room, and he was gratified to hear her low chuckle.

“We’ll see how long it stays in your closet,” she yelled over her shoulder before disappearing entirely.

Settling deeper into the couch, Tony glanced down at his dog, whose expression was the picture of seriousness as he gazed up at Tony.

“What? You could have bitten her, you know,” he grumbled.

Ollie tilted his head quizzically, and Tony sighed.

“Yeah, you’re right. She’s too gamey. Would you like to learn about servos today? Or Ponzi schemes?”

Ollie gave a doggy grin then practically fell off the couch in his eagerness to beat Tony to the elevator. “Learn” was one of Ollie’s favorite words, and Tony had taken a great deal of interest in teaching his goofball the ins and outs of fraud.

Following at a much more sedate pace, Tony shuffled to the elevator, sparing one last glance in the direction of Natasha’s room before he and Ollie went down to the compound’s Candyland. There’d be time to freak out later.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for the long wait. Studying abroad is still eating up my time. It's insane! Here's a tiiiiny chapter that has a brief moment of why Rhodey and Vision certainly aren't happy about Natasha's return. 
> 
> In other news, I am looking for inspiration for battered hearts. I started this fic on a whim without really giving it any direction, so ideas are more than welcome! I believe the next chapter / future chapters will have the Barton Clan, so you can look forward to Ollie and children, but beyond that I'm open to suggestion! (Seriously. Help.) ((and if you read passing grade i am so sorry idk i will try and update soon))
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads, comments, and leaves kudos. It's truly appreciated ♥

It didn’t take long for Rhodey and Vision to corner him about Natasha. Thirty six hours, to be exact. 

FRIDAY was a snitch, and even though she hadn’t immediately turned Natasha out on her ass, she had most definitely tattled, and the Dynamic Duo were less than thrilled with Tony’s tendency to take in traitorous strays. 

“So. Lemme get this straight,” Rhodey began, pacing an awkward gait in front of the couch where Tony was curled up with Ollie, sipping a chlorophyll smoothie. 

“Natasha waltzes in. Unannounced. And even after all the shit she’s put you through, _us_ through, you let her move back in? Just like that?” 

Tony rolled his eyes, lips wrapped around a straw to keep from answering while glancing over at Vision, who remained silent and passive in his own chair, still channeling a rumpled professor’s wardrobe. 

When the android didn’t speak, Tony swallowed his mouthful of smoothie and snarked, “Did FRIDAY stutter?” 

“No, but she did play the footage. That wasn’t an apology, Tony. That was veiled insults and a shitty attempt at reconciliation. She _left_ us, Tony? Why would you let her into our home?” 

“It’s still technically her home,” Tony admitted on a sigh. “She signed the Accords. Or did you forget? Yes, she absolutely did leave on a sour note. Do I want her here? No. Does she have responsibilities to what’s left of the team? Yes.” 

Rhodey’s jaw was set, and Tony knew what was gnawing at his best friend. Natasha was the beginning of the chain that led to Rhodey losing his legs. Her wavering loyalties were the reason that Barnes and Rogers were up in the air in the first place. If she hadn’t let them go, Rhodey might still be in the Air Force. He might have been able to walk unaided, to live his life outside of a wheelchair when he was too exhausted by the prosthetics. 

Tony was angry too. Oh, he was fucking _pissed_ , when it came to Natasha Romanoff. But he was also tired. So goddamned tired. Natasha had kicked him when he was down, castigating himself over Rhodey’s injuries, replaying the fall over and over in his mind, running calculations that would never pan out in success. He’d been reeling, injured in his own right, going practically insane with worry over Rhodey, and Steve’s refusal to keep the family together, and she had come up and told him to let go of his ego. But what about hers? What about her lies, and how her mercurial loyalties could shift back and forth, but Tony tries to do the _right thing_ and suddenly he’s an arrogant egomaniac?

Dragging his hands down his face, Tony groaned. He felt like shit. Ollie shifted next to him, halfway in his lap by the time Tony looked to Vision, who had only grown more pensive. 

“What do you propose, Vision?” Tony asked, wanting to know what had him looking so worried. 

“I believe Ms. Romanoff is, second to yourself, the face of the Accords.” 

“But?” Rhodey filled in, when Vision paused. 

“Politically she is invaluable. Yet I find the idea of her residing here quite untenable and potentially volatile for everyone’s state of mind and general well being. The doctors said to limit Mr. Stark’s exposure to stressful stimuli, and I believe Ms. Romanoff falls within that criterion.” 

They fell silent in tandem, Vision staring out into a distance only he could see, while Rhodey walked to the nearest set of windows, his shoulders hunched in a way that meant he was brooding. Tony had a lifetime’s experience with his best friend’s brooding. Most of it caused by Tony himself. 

Carding his fingers through Ollie’s fur, Tony had to wonder what could be done. Their options were depressingly few. He wasn’t moving out of the last home he had left just to avoid Natasha. Even if most of their family had already gone, Tony had no desire to go back to New York City. Plus, Ollie had way more room to run at the compound. 

“We’ll wait,” Tony said finally. “See if she shows us any evidence that she’s for real. But seriously, stop hovering. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself.” 

Rhodey and Vision’s matching expressions of dubious disbelief made him feel small, and an miniscule part of his psyche knew they were right. Why was everyone else in his life always right? 

“We wait,” he repeated, his voice firm. Once he freed himself from Ollie’s dead weight and copious amounts of fur, he got off the couch and whistled low, Ollie’s signal to bound off the couch and draw level with Tony’s knee. 

“Good pup,” he praised with a smile, before looking at his friends. “As for me, I have to walk my dog.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Sooooooo. I am technically six days short of an entire year of not updating, but look at this! It hasn't quite been a year! Spider-Man Homecoming was a lovely motivator, and gave me a kickstart to updating, in addition to everyone's kind comments. I'm pretty excited to have Peter playing a more involved role, and look forward to Tony gathering a new family in the coming chapters. 
> 
> My dear readers, please don't ever underestimate the power of your kind words and interest. Every kudos, every comment, every iota of love you shared for _battered hearts_ motivated me to keep writing. I know it's been a long while, but your support helped me through. Know that I plan on finishing this fic, wherever it ends, and you are an important piece of it! 
> 
> @ Aki_The_Shiftless & GwendolynStacy , thank you for the suggestions about the Bartons! I've already started working on that chapter, so look forward to some "fun" shenanigans soon!

As Tony and Ollie walked around the compound’s track, he reflected on how he had always wanted a dog. Before he’d gotten old enough to realize that begging and/or asking politely got him cuffed upside the head, he’d asked for a puppy at every major holiday and birthday. His dad would probably be nicer to a real dog than the robot he’d built when he was a kid, that had been summarily destroyed in one of Howard’s drunken rages.

When asked, Howard had always said “go bother your mother, Anthony. I’m busy.” His mother had always said, “Ask your father again in a few months, dear.”

By the time his tenth birthday rolled around, Tony had given up on the idea of a puppy, dog, or even a friend’s dog. One needed friends for that, and his boarding school had been fresh out of both human and canine companionship.

Dogs became a wholesome ideal that Tony Stark would never attain, especially when he was fast laned from MIT to heading up Stark Industries after his parents died. His lifestyle wouldn’t have meshed well with the needs of a dog in the intervening years, especially when he factored in his newfound knowledge courtesy of Ollie.

Pepper would have honestly strangled him, and adopted any hypothetical dogs off to Happy or a Stark Industries employee for sure.

Ollie had been a learning curve, but as Tony set off around the compound’s track at a brisk walk with the retriever at his side, he found himself smiling. Yeah, everything had gone to shit, but Ollie was arguably the best thing to come out of his heart attack (which he was still denying, thank you very much.)

Natasha was firmly out of sight and out of mind as they rounded a bend, and Tony instead set his thoughts to checking in on Peter when he got the chance. Pepper and Happy had been fielding calls and emails from the teen, and finally they’d turned him over to Tony when he’d been cleared for the stress of dealing with superpowered ankle biters.

It had taken Peter showing up in his aunt’s “borrowed” car for Tony to clue in and realize that Peter Parker’s hero worship had eclipsed Iron Man posters and edged into something that smelled suspiciously like family.

In front of him, Ollie bounded forward to retrieve a tennis ball that had been abandoned, tail wagging faster than Tony’s eyes could track. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he didn’t even complain when Ollie dropped the drool covered ball into his palm.

Well.

“That’s gross,” he muttered, then chucked the ball as far as he was able, considering his chest twinged every time he jostled any part of his upper body. Ollie took off like a rocket, and was back before Tony could take two steps on the straight away.

He took the ball and lobbed it again, absently wiping his drool covered fingers on his jeans. Dogs were kind of...disgusting. He told himself every day it wasn’t much different than being elbow deep in an engine and covered in grease, but the drool, poop, and everything else, was still in the adjustment phases.

The drool-ball wasn’t enough to keep Ollie’s attention for long, and en route to bringing it back, the fool dog caught sight of a butterfly and bounded after it with his tongue lolling, more of a puppy than usual as he leaped through the high grass on the outside of the track.

Tony shook his head and grinned at his dog, only whistling for him when he was rounding the second bend closest to the compound.

“Who’s a good pooch? Who’s earned the bath Vision will inevitably give you because you’ll offend his developing olfactory sensors?” Tony cooed, allowing a moment of disbelief that he was _still_ baby-talking his dog.

Ollie barked twice, sharp staccato notes that Tony countered with, “Bork bork!”, which only set the dog off further, his entire body wriggling as they stepped onto the path that led to the compound.

Tony’s mind was on dinner and a movie with his dog, with no thought for Natasha or the Dynamic Duo, when the shrill guitar riff of “Thunderstruck” started shrieking from his watch. Ollie trotted over, circling Tony while he fished his phone out of pocket. He eventually jerked his hand in the ‘heel’ command as they walked on, and Ollie fell into step next to him while Tony answered the phone, leery of who else wanted to ream him out for letting Natasha back into the compound.

“Stark.”

“Tony, we have a situation.”

“Isn’t it always a situation with you people?” Tony sighed, wondering what in the hell Maria Hill needed from him.

He hadn’t been sure she’d still be at the compound after the shitshow of the Accords, but she’d stepped into the vacuum that Steve and the others had left, and had been running the show when Pepper had gone back to New York. He figured she was still reporting to ol’ One-Eye, but he could live with that. Fury wasn’t _too_ horrible. Just kind of a dick.

“Uh-huh,” Maria deadpanned, and Tony can practically her glower. “This is the kind of situation that needs your particular brand of...you.”

“That was incredibly specific,” Tony drawled, clucking to Ollie as they walked inside the lower half of the living quarters. He hoped to avoid Vision and Rhodey, and was taking a roundabout route to skirt around their scrutiny.

“It’s Laura and the kids, Tony.”

That drew him up short, leaving Ollie to nose at his hand when his steps stuttered to a stop.

Maria plowed on without Tony’s input, and he was quietly grateful for her no-nonsense approach to crisis, besides life in general.

“I got a tip down the line that Ross is honing in on Laura and the kids, since Clint is still in El Dorado,” Maria explained, her voice going tight with irritation when she referred to Wakanda.

Tony knew his tech, but he also knew that the kind of desperation that seized Thaddeus Ross would lead a man to extreme lengths, which might include installing a mole at the New Avengers Compound. The use of the code word also meant that Maria was in a location that could carry the possibility of compromise, which was always fun.

“Consider it done,” Tony replied, not needing more than a minute to decide that the compound was going to play host to a daycare soon enough.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Maria said as a sign off.

Tony stuffed his phone into his pocket, then clucked again at Ollie to get him back on track from sniffing one of Rhodey’s abandoned gym bags that had been left outside the Avengers only workout rooms. The man could work up a sweat, and he honestly couldn’t blame the dog. But he needed to focus, needed to work up a plan to get the Barton-brood out of Ross’ line of sight, without involving Natasha or the Dynamic Duo, if possible.

“Ollie, let’s get to work,” Tony called out, and his canine compadre’s demeanor shifted instantly. He moved to Tony’s side, bright eyed and attentive as he bumped his head against Tony’s hand.

He carded his fingers through Ollie’s curls, and tapped his index finger on the dog’s forehead while considering his options. Who could he get to help him wrangle three children and a recalcitrant housewife who’d been scorned by her wayward, poor decision making husband?

“Ah _ha,_ ” Tony crowed, ruffling Ollie’s ears with a grin. “How about our very own Spiderling?”

Ollie smiled up at him, tongue lolling, and Tony took it as a blessing to recruit his very own Spider-Son (as Happy had taken to calling him) to the task.

~

Peter hung from his ceiling, flipping idly through his chemistry textbook while whittling away the hours until Aunt May came home. Normally he’d be out patrolling, but he’d forgotten his homework two days in a row, and Mr. Yeck had threatened to call home if he didn’t catch up. Plus, he had a sense that something big was coming, and he wanted to be ready.

He nearly fell from his web when his phone started ringing, and 100% dropped his textbook, which would have totally been embarrassing if anyone had been watching, but they hadn’t, so.

The ringtone wasn’t Ned’s, Aunt May’s, or even Happy’s, and Peter was tempted to let it go to voicemail, except a little voice in his head was like, “Hey Peter, go answer that phone.”

How could he say no?

He webbed his phone from across the room, then slid his thumb over the green ‘Answer’ icon before putting it to his ear.

“This is Peter. Peter Parker. Peter’s phone,” he stuttered, groaning internally at how _stupid_ he sounded.

“Hey Peter’s Phone,” a voice answered, and that time Peter did fall from his web, barely managing to right himself in time before he face planted his floor.

“M-Mr. Stark?? What? What’s up? Is there a mission?” He rambled, his heart rate kicking up. Happy was always the one who called or talked to him, because he said that Mr. Stark was too busy, but now Mr. Stark was calling _him_?!

No way.

“Slow your roll, Spiderling. Spider-Man,” he amended, before Peter could open his mouth. “There _is_ a mission, if you think you’re up to it.”

“Oh, I’m up for it,” Peter practically yelled, grabbing his backpack and stuffing it with his homework, chemistry book, Spanish book, some Doritos, and the sandwich he’d bought earlier at the bodega.

“Have you done your homework?” Mr. Stark asked, and Peter wasn’t sure if it was sarcastic or not, but he figured it wasn’t entirely rhetorical either.

“Oh yeah, totally. All done. So what are we doing? When do you need me? Is it right now?”

“Is your highly attractive, oddly hot aunt around for you to ask permission to leave?”

“Wha...well, she’s at work but I could say I’m going to Ned’s, so--”

“Cool, then I’m going to need you to suit up, and go to the roof of the really high apartment complex on the corner.”

“Got it!” Peter yelped, then groaned at how his voice cracked. _So_ uncool. “I’ll be there in like, five. Are you gonna be there? Will it be Happy? Do I need anything else?”

“Suit. You. Roof,” Mr. Stark stated, then hung up.

Peter stared at his phone for a moment then shoved it in his backpack, unable to keep from grinning as he climbed into his suit.

~

By the time Tony landed his stealthiest, yet roomiest quinjet on a roof nearby Peter’s apartment, he was surprised the kid hadn't peed himself from excitement like one of those tiny toy dogs that yapped from people's purses.

As it was, Peter hopped from foot to foot, and Tony would have bet the kid was grinning under his mask while he re-adjusted his backpack for what was probably the umpteenth time.

“Hey, Mr. Stark! Do we get to ride in that? Does it have stealth panels? What kind of propulsion does it use?” Peter rattled off, and Tony barely stopped an eye roll that would have been fond, but possibly misinterpreted as irritation by his young ward.

Tony was an asshole, but Pete was a good kid, and he was trying to avoid his father’s mistakes with the fourteen...fifteen? year old.

“How about I regale you with my sexy tech on the way there?”

Peter jumped forward, eager to get going, though Tony didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d be playing a glorified babysitter.

With the door shut, Tony gestured to the co-pilot’s chair, then ran through a quick pre-flight checklist while Peter strapped in. The kid yanked off his mask, eyes wide in wonder and mouth gaping in what Tony might have called a nerdgasm while his fingers itched to touch.

“Hands off, kid. Learning to pilot quinjets is for fifth year wizards.”

Peter’s head shot around, and Tony was a little proud that his pop culture references extend to fifteen year olds. Does he feel old himself? Occasionally, especially when faced with Peter’s boundless energy and ability to scale skyscrapers.

“When do I become a fifth year wizard?” Peter asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“I’ll let you know.”

Once Tony confirmed Peter was strapped in, he secured his own harness and engaged the retro-reflective stealth panels, and lifted off the building’s roof and pointed it to Bum Fuck Virginia.

With the coordinates entered, Tony spun in his chair to face Peter, who mirrored his actions and looked at him with such an expression of...adoration, that it took Tony’s breath away. And simultaneously heaped a fuck-ton of responsibility on his shoulders.

“What’s the mission?” Peter said finally, beaming as if it were Christmas, or maybe Comic Con.

“Reconnaissance and extraction. We’ll be infiltrating a high risk location, and picking up four civilians to bring back to the compound. Vision’ll be there, scoping out the area. You’re all...quick and nimble, so I’ll need your help with the extraction.”

Peter’s nod was all enthusiasm, and as he opened his mouth to no doubt ask a dozen more questions, the sound of cheerful barking broke into their reverie. Ollie was tethered to one side of the quinjet, though Tony had given him enough lead that he could chase the laser FRIDAY was shining around the midway of the craft.

“Whoa! Is that your dog?” Peter asked, unstrapping himself from the co-pilot chair faster than Tony could tell him to stay put.

Ollie had pounced on the laser, and his butt was in the air while his body wriggled when Peter sat beside him. Immediately, the dog realized that a real person, a _boy_ was going to be so much more fun than the laser, and Tony smiled when his protegé (of sorts) ended up with a lapful of curly coated retriever.

“What good kisses!” Peter cooed, even as Ollie bathed his face liberally. Privately, Tony hoped he’d slobber all over Peter and not have too much left over for him, but he was confident that wouldn’t be the case. Joy.

“Aunt May says we don’t have enough room for a dog,” Peter lamented, scratching Ollie behind the ears with a sigh. “I didn’t peg you for a dog guy, Mr. Stark. I mean, not that you can’t have a dog, it’s just...uh. Cats, maybe?”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, because Peter inspired feelings of both despair and probably something close to paternal affection, whenever he opened his mouth.

“He’s a heart sniffer,” Tony muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He hated explaining Ollie, no matter how much he loved him.

“A what?”

“He’s a service dog,” he clarified, and smiled slightly when Ollie’s head perked up, and the dog gamboled over to drop his head into Tony’s lap.

He rubbed Ollie’s ears, feeling the kick in his chest settle at the presence of his dog. Ollie stared up at him, offering support and acceptance in spades, without even saying a word. Because he was a dog, mostly. But the rest Tony attributed to having another creature who accepted him unequivocally, who didn’t leave him in a frozen bunker to die, who wanted Tony for himself, and not anything else.

“Ohhhh,” Peter trailed off, then levered himself to his feet so that he could return to the co-pilot’s chair, and stare at Tony, which quickly became uncomfortable and mildly irritating.

“Can I help you?” Tony snarked, then hooked his index fingers into Ollie’s collar as a bit of a lifeline; without the vest, there was less to touch as a physical ground, but Ollie was well trained in the art of standing still and just _being_.

“Why do you have a service dog?” Peter asked, suddenly looking all of his fifteen years. His knees knocked together, and he wrung his suit covered hands in his lap, the picture of worry. Tony looked at Peter and saw the best of his parents, Richard and Mary, CIA operatives who had met the bad end of a plane crash, probably at the hand of someone they’d pissed off. Peter’s family had been ripped away from him like Tony’s, by a faceless monster who stole what didn’t belong to them. Tony wanted to be there for him, wanted to help him reach his potential, fill the gap that Howard Stark had left in his soul before he and the Winter Soldier met on that back road. He wanted to be truthful, in a way he rarely felt in regard to the people in his life.

“For my heart,” Tony murmured, tapping Ollie on the nose. His dog grinned, and Tony took a moment to steel himself for Peter’s disappointment, for his fall from the pedestal the teen had put him on. “And my head,” he added, letting his chin drop to his chest.

Peter seemed to mull over the information, then scooted forward in his seat, resting one gloved hand on Ollie’s head, and the other tentatively on Tony’s shoulder. Tony closed his eyes, waiting for the axe to fall, wishing he could be _better_ ; Peter deserved that and more.

“Mr. Stark...I...I think you’re,” the teen stammered, then took a deep breath and garnered whatever courage he needed to continue. “You’re really brave. You’re my hero,” Peter breathed.

“Kid-”

“Waitaminnit, okay?” Peter blurted, taking another fortifying breath.

Tony’s teeth clicked shut on his reply, and he could feel Ollie looking at Peter too, while they waited for the teen to figure out what he wanted to say.

“If you think you’re broken, ‘cause of New York, or your heart, or...any of it, you’re not. Like, I lost my parents when I was little, but I still have nightmares. I get nightmares about people I meet on the streets in Queens while on patrol. You’ve been through so much, Mr. Stark. It makes sense.”

“You _what-_ ” Tony started, but was cut off again by the kid, whose jaw was set in a mulish expression that Tony had seen way too many times in the mirror.

“You’re allowed to be human, Mr. Stark. If Ollie helps you, then I think that’s amazing.”

Tony swallowed, and curled in on himself further, accepting Ollie’s reassuring puppy licks to his cheek while he processed the fact that a fucking fifteen year old had more maturity than the entire Avengers roster combined. Except Rhodey; he’d always had his shit together.

“You’re a good kid. Spiderling.”

“Spider- _Man_ ,” Peter insisted.

“Okay, Spider-Man,” Tony stated as he stood, dropping his hand onto the kid’s head to ruffle his hair. He stopped when it seemed like there were actual tears in Peter’s eyes, feeling like it came a little too close to mushy shit for his liking.

“Hey, Mr. Stark?” Peter chimed as Tony went to the back of the quinjet to recheck that it was properly stocked for the Barton Brood.

“Yeah?” Tony asked, not looking at the teen, not quite prepared for more hero worship.

His answer was to be hugged from behind, partially glad he doesn’t have the arc reactor any longer, as Peter’s hug rivals Thor’s in both enthusiasm and strength.

“That’s all,” Peter muttered, then released Tony to go and play with Ollie, as if nothing had actually happened.

Tony felt warm all over, the way he did when he and Rhodey shared a beer after a long day, pressed shoulder to shoulder on a sagging couch in the workshop while rewatching old Star Trek episodes and reminiscing about MIT. It was like Pepper’s tears after Afghanistan, after New York, after Extremis, after the heart attack. It was Bruce’s smile as they collaborated, or JARVIS telling him goodnight. It was Vision, asking about the world, and how to adapt and live in it. It was family, and Tony was shaken in a way that few things managed to rattle him.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Stark,” the kid replied, then cajoled Tony’s dog into running back and forth down the middle of the quinjet as far as Ollie’s lead allowed.

“We are approaching the destination, Boss,” FRIDAY echoed from the console.

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Ollie, c’mere,” Tony called.

Ollie suffered a brief moment of being torn between his new friend and his master, but it ended quickly enough, and the dog loped to Tony, who unhooked him from the lead, and began fitting him into his vest. Ollie stood completely still, a credit to his training while Tony fiddled with the buckles, and made sure that the tracker and extra supplies were fitted snugly into the vest pockets, which included MREs, direct uplinks to FRIDAY and the compound, and some lightweight gear that wouldn’t weigh Ollie down too much.

“So what _is_ the mission?” Peter asked, and Tony could hear the rustle of the Spider-Man mask being tugged on.

“You remember Hawkeye?”

“The guy who helped drop half a car park on you?”

Tony paused at the uncharacteristically dark undertones of Peter’s voice, and glanced back to find the kid taut as a wire, shoulders hunched while his hands trembled.

Blinking, Tony grappled with the idea that Peter wa _upset_ on Tony’s behalf, and would probably try to rip Barton in two if he weren’t stashed away in the jungle.

“Whoa now,” Tony soothed, gesturing for Ollie to go to Peter. “It sucked, but it’s over. You don’t have to worry about him.”

Ollie sniffed at Peter’s web shooters then sneezed, eliciting a strained laugh from the kid.

“Hawkeye left three kids and a pissed off wife behind. The same guy who wanted me to bring in Captain America has decided to try and hold them hostage, to try and draw Hawkeye out.”

Peter’s lenses narrowed, and Tony could easily imagine the angry set of his jaw, and the furrowing of his brow that was reserved for the suffering of the innocent, when he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“That’s dirty Quidditch.”

“Yup,” Tony agreed, letting the ‘p’ pop. “So we’re extracting the family today.”

He shrugged into a flannel shirt, because a three piece Tom Ford wouldn’t be welcome on the Barton farm, then adjusted his watch. Just in case.

“What will I be doing?”

Tony smirked as he made his way back to the controls, clucking for Ollie to follow.

“Kids _love_ Spider-Man.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Look! It hasn't been a year! I'm actually a little proud of myself. Thank you so, so much to everyone who has commented and left kudos. I'm slowly replying, but they mean the world to me, and are literally the reason I'm able to pick battered hearts back up and continue it. I feel privileged to bring Tony's story to you. I'm honored to know that my story has touched people's lives, and resonated with their experiences. Thank you. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has suggested the Barton family! They're about to add some much needed life to the Avengers compound. It's always important to remember that healing is a process, and not an event, and Tony will need as many people in his corner to help mend the hurt he's been dealt. 
> 
> As always, it's totally unbeta'd, but if you want a crack at it and don't mind waiting long spans of time filled with uncertainty in regard to updates, feel free to let me know!

“The immediate area is clear, Mr. Stark,” Vision murmured over the comms, leaving something stuck to Tony’s insides when a pang of loss for JARVIS washed over him.

“Thanks, Vision. We’ll be landing in five just outside of the fence line.”

“I have spotted unmarked vehicles exactly twenty miles away. I believe their timeline was adjusted,” Vision added, and Tony could only sigh.

“Methinks we have a mole,” Tony mused as he took the controls from FRIDAY, landing the quinjet smoothly on a rise just beyond the Bartons’ property fence, as close as he could get to the house without potentially getting shot.

“They’ve got two boys and a girl,” Tony stated, pulling a leash out of his pocket, which he clipped to Ollie’s collar.

“Lila and Cooper are...I dunno. 8 and 10? Nathaniel is a toddler. I think. They’re what passes for cute, smart, tiny agents who will gleefully knock your Lego towers down given the chance. Laura Barton is a fierce, independent woman who don’t need a man, especially since he got himself thrown in jail.”

“You mean you didn’t carbon date the children?” Peter quipped.

Tony narrowed his eyes at Peter, choosing not to comment as he checked the fit of Ollie’s collar.

Peter continued, apparently undaunted since Tony hadn’t said anything.

“She totally terrifies you, doesn’t she, Mr. Stark?”

“Absolutely,” Tony replied without missing a beat. Peter stifled a giggle, and then it was time to get the show on the road.

They disembarked the quinjet with Ollie trotting at Tony’s side, and Peter’s head swiveling at the trees, the barn, and the smog-free sky. Peter had grown up in Queens, and probably had never seen so much green outside of field trips away from the city. Tony resolved to bring the kid to the compound more often, and get him out of the hustle and bustle, and into some fresh air.

As they neared the house, Tony directed Ollie behind him, in case Laura had the shotgun he’d spied on his last visit loaded up and ready to blow them away.

“I want you to hang back, Spider-Man. Mrs. Barton won’t be messing around.”

Peter nodded, then took Ollie’s lead and stopped with him just short of the porch while Tony climbed the steps.

Laura was already waiting behind the screen door, shotgun leveled at Tony’s face.

“What do you want, Tony?” She asked, brandishing the gun with a scowl.

Tony kept his eye on the gun, hoping she didn’t decide his head no longer belonged on his body. Still, she’d called him ‘Tony’, which was a plus.

“I wouldn’t be here unless it were important, Laura. You and your family deserve your peace.”

Laura eyed him for a tense moment, fingers shifting on the gun before she decided not to blow him away.

“Talk.”

Tony had always admired Laura. Not only for putting up with Hawkass, but for choosing to both embrace her husband’s career choice while stoutly holding on to the ideal of family.

“Ross is coming for you. We heard chatter at the compound that he wants to use you and the kids to draw Clint out, and Vision has confirmed they’re about twenty minutes away, if that.”

Laura hissed through her teeth, and Tony envied her ability to stuff her rage down and not take her anger out on Tony with the gun he refused to take his eyes off of.

“I’m taking you and the kids to the compound, but you can move to a safehouse after if you want. Natasha can orchestrate it all, if that makes you feel better. But for now, we’ve gotta move.”

She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment to center herself before she _finally_ lowered the damn shotgun and stashed it behind the door.

“Alright. Do you have an plans on how to load three children up in less than twenty minutes?” She snarked, moving further into the house, where Tony was positive there were four “bug out” bags just for that type of scenario.

Tony pivoted, and cupped his hands around his mouth to shout, “Underoos!”

It never got old.

Peter bounded up with Ollie at his side, and Tony could clearly picture the teen’s alert “mission mode” expression that Happy always harped about.

“Ready, Mr. Stark!”

“You brought Spider-Man?” Laura asked, her voice tinged with disbelief, and her eyebrows heading for her hairline.

“I know for a fact Cooper is a fan,” Tony pointed out.

Tony and Cooper (Lila too, on occasion) had kept up email and video chat correspondence, and while Tony wasn't sure if Laura knew, he’d definitely shared Cooper’s enthusiasm for Peter’s YouTube videos.

Huffing out a breath, Laura turned her back on Tony so she could kick the entryway rug aside to reveal...nothing. She knelt with a groan and a muttered curse to her knees, and pressed down against a portion of floor that responded with a faint _click_ , which released a vacuum seal of air.

“Come on up, kids,” Laura called, and Tony could only blink as the speed in which three heads popped up.

Nathaniel was actually in existence, and although Tony knew the kid had been born / seen pictures, it was weird seeing the once wrinkly raisin creature a full fledged extra mini agent.

“Grab your Go-Bags, kids,” Laura ordered, taking Nathaniel from Cooper and handing him off to Tony.

“I’m not good with kids,” Tony blurted, fumbling to keep a good grip on the squirming toddler.

“Get good,” Laura shot back, already bursting into motion.

Cooper and Lila scrambled out of the bolt hole, disappearing up the stairs while Peter came fully inside, looking around in wonder. Tony wouldn’t be surprised if the kid had never been in a full sized house that wasn’t a brownstone before.

“Spider-Boy,” Laura barked, not even stuttering over the name, “you’re my bag boy. Follow me.”

“I-It’s Spider- **Man** ,” Peter squeaked, but followed without question.

Nathaniel lurched away from Tony in an attempt to reach Ollie, who didn’t bat an eye at the toddler’s grabby hands barely missing his ears.

“Whoa kid,” Tony yelped, hauling Nathaniel back against his chest.

“Puppy!” Nathaniel burbled, wriggling down Tony’s torso until hie was snug against Tony’s hip, and therefore closer to the ultimate goal: Ollie.

Tony crouched, wincing as the crack of his knees, and clucked his tongue for Ollie to come closer. Ollie, the ultimate Good Boy™, stayed still while Tony let Nathaniel get closer.

“Be gentle,” Tony coaxed, showing Nathaniel how to pet his dog. (Not that Ollie would be ill tempered about it.)

Nathaniel, with the enthusiasm of youth, patted Ollie hard three times before Tony grabbed his pudgy hand.

“ _Gentle_ , Nate,” he murmured, keeping hold of Nathaniel while demonstrating the correct way to be kind to a dog.

“Puppy,” Nathaniel repeated, almost revernet when Ollie licked his fingers.

“His name is Ollie,” Tony explained, smiling when his dog did.

Nathaniel kept petting while Tony wondered how he was supposed to lug a 25 pound sack of toddler upwards, when he wasn’t supposed to strain _anything_ ; Rhodey wouldn’t eve let him carry a gallon of milk.

Ollie eyed him, and Tony could have sworn his dog was judging him. He decided to just release Nathaniel, following him to make sure he didn’t stick his fingers into an electrical socket or something equally dangerous. Occasionally he heard a clatter upstairs, and kept an eye on his watch while Nathaniel took the time to show him his toys, and shove a children’s book about happy clouds first down Tony’s shirt, and then into his hands while repeating, “Read please,” over and over.

“Five minutes, Boss,” FRIDAY said in his ear, sending a trill of alarm down Tony’s spine.

As if on cue, the kids plus Peter came bounding down the stairs. The kid (Tony’s kid, that is) had two diaper bags slung crisscross over his chest, and Tony imagined him going to war with soccer moms at the park. He had stuffed animals and blankets tucked under his arms, and was just skinny enough for a Ninja Turtles backpack to top it all off. Both Lila and Cooper were sporting character backpacks, and expressions of determination, which were an eerie mix of Clint and Laura combined on tiny agent faces.

“We’re ready, Uncle Tony,” Cooper stated, and Tony’s heart skipped painfully.

Ollie licked Tony’s fingers, bringing him out of his brief angsty reverie and into the moment, where people were counting on him to have his shit together.

“Where’s Nathaniel?” Laura demanded, tucking a manila envelope into a purse that probably had no bottom. She stepped around Peter and the kids to search for her youngest, shooting Tony a scathing look as she passed by.

“I let him pet Ollie and couldn’t pick him up again because of my ticker,” Tony muttered, ducking his head in shame. How weak was he, that he couldn’t lift a toddler? Honestly, it’s not like it would have fucked him over any more than he already was.

Ollie whined softly, pushing his head under Tony’s hand, then leaned against his leg to ground him.

Laura’s expression softened, and she turned back to shove her purse and a messenger bag into Tony’s hands so she could zone in on the toddler.

“Cooper, Lila, Spider-Man, head to the jet.”

All three snapped to attention at the command in Laura’s voice, then hustled out the door, the chatter of eager, excited voices fading as the ran up the grassy rise to the quinjet.

“I would advise you to take Mrs. Barton and the children to the quinjet, Mr. Stark. I’ve felled some trees on the main road to give you additional time, but they are already achieving a workaround.”

Laura appeared with Nathaniel, who was clutching a plush bird, probably a hawk. She jingled her house keys in Tony’s face, then swept out of the door, leaving Tony blinking in her wake.

With the house locked up, they speedwalked to the jet, where the kids had already piled in. Peter was helping Cooper and Lila buckle in, and once Laura was inside, FRIDAY released two additional seats, one equipped with a child harness small enough for Nathaniel.

“I’m going to get us in the air, Spider-Man. Make sure everyone is strapped in and their luggage stored, then join me in the co-pilot’s chair.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark!” Peter chirped, and Tony could hear snatches of excited conversation between Lila and Peter about science and robots while he sped through pre-flight checks.

“Ready, Boss,’ FRIDAY confirmed, and the quinjet was in the air, retroreflective panels engaged as they took off.

“We’re in the air, Vision. ETA two hours to the compound.”

“Acknowledged, Mr. Stark. I will maintain surveillance throughout the evening, and report my findings tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Vision. It’s appreciated.”

Tony heard the click of Vision switching off the team comms, and groaned internally at the impending mothering. He knew why private comms were a thing, but.

“Are you well, Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered with a sig. “I was good, didn’t pick up the toddler, etc.”

“How were you received? Should I alert James to be extra prepared for your arrival?”

Tony paused, glancing over his shoulder at Laura, who was shaking the bird plush in Nathaniel’s face, eliciting giggles from the tawny haired toddler. His heart skipped again, because whether they knew it or not, they were counting on Tony. He’d taken responsibility for their safety, and he couldn’t stand to lose another family, even if it wasn’t his.

“Alright, actually. The kids don’t hate me, at least. And don’t call Rhodey. We’ll be fine.”

Laura had never lied to her children, and they were aware that Clint had been imprisoned, and that Tony’s actions had put him there. They were aware he’d been broken out, though not by Tony, and Cooper had made sure to tell Tony in no uncertain terms over their last Skype call that Clint was persona non grata in the Barton household.

“We follow the rules, Uncle Tony,” Cooper had said, while Lila clamored for a spot in front of the camera.

“Dad is stupid and I hate him,” she had grumbled, and Cooper had nodded in agreement.

It had been an illuminating Skype conversation, to say the least.

“Very good, Mr. Stark. I look forward to meeting them tomorrow.”

“We’ll play it by ear, Vision. See where we’re at, and if Laura still wants to disembowel me.”

The private comms clicked, and Tony was afforded the opportunity to look over at Peter, who was alternating between staring at the Bartons, and telling Ollie he was “a good boy, maybe the _best_ boy”.

“You did a good job, Spider-Man. I know it wasn’t as exciting at fighting Captain America, but it was important.”

Peter’s suit lenses widened, and his gloved hands plucked at the suit for a few moments while the kid looked out the window. Tony couldn’t be sure, but he thought Peter’s chest was heaving, and his shoulders hunched a bit in the minute it took the teen to pull himself together.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter replied in a watery voice. “Gotta protect the little guy, y’know? Who’s gonna help them, if not your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?”

“That your byline?” Tony quipped, turning his attention to the console controls. He was allergic to emotion.

“Yeah!” Peter seemed entirely undaunted by Tony’s sarcasm, and instead chose to keep petting Ollie, the lenses of his suit wide and pleased, if Tony were to judge.

(Which he absolutely could, because he’d designed the microexpressions of the thing, so.)

“When we get back to the compound, I’ll need your help getting them set up. Do you mind if your room is between mine and their suite? I really want Spider-Man to be my buffer from the tiny agents, I honestly don’t have the time or inclination to step on that many Legos.”

“My...my room?”

“Yes. Your room. Loft. Suite. Yadda yadda. You didn’t think I was gonna make you sleep on the couch during your “Stark Internship Leadership Retreat”, didya?”

“I mean, I thought...Maybe? Like, it would have been totally cool! It would have been the _compound’s couch,_ ” Peter whispered, as if that actually made it cool. “And it probably would have been comfy, then I could have bugged Happy, and maybe have gotten like, a Pop-Tart for breakfast, then finished my homework and maybe we coulda hung out? I didn’t like...plan it or anything, but maybe...I dunno, we could? Do something. Those things. Yes.”

“Jeez, stop talking. Don’t make it weird.”

Peter seemed to deflate, and Tony rolled his eyes because this whole ‘parenting’ thing was ridiculous, and he was barely fit to care for his damn dog, let alone a fourteen...fifteen(?) year old.

“What I _mean_ ,” Tony drawled, “is that you definitely get to hang at our Headquarters for the Decrepit and Recently Hijacked Families. You’ll always have a room there, and we’ll make breakfast. Log some Stark Intern Science Time. SIST? Maybe not bug Happy. He’s got that condition? Doesn’t like to talk about it, you know.”

Tony tapped his fingers against the controls, not strong enough to look at Peter and see his reaction. _Fuck me_ , he thought, a little desperately. _I’m already attached to this kid, and I keep letting him see my soft spots._

 

A warmth in his lap jolted him, and while Tony initially thought he’d pissed himself, it was actually his dog, who had managed to wriggle half his bulk onto Tony’s legs and situate himself quite comfortably.

“FRIDAY?” Tony bleated, hating the break in his voice.

“Got it, Boss,” FRIDAY soothed, and Tony felt the beginnings of constriction in his chest ease when the AI took the controls.

“So stupid,” Tony muttered, then allowed himself to curl around Ollie, wondering why his stupid fucking brain decided to fritz out when he needed it most. What happened to the genius part of genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist?

“I don’t think it’s stupid, Mr. Stark,” Peter murmured.

“You don’t even know why I’m this pathetic,” Tony grumbled in response, burying his face against Ollie’s neck. His fur smelled like home, like the detergent Vision picked out, and the weird plug in air freshener Rhodey insisted on using. He tried not to think about how Laura viewed him, especially while losing his shit and hugging his dog when he was supposed to be piloting the jet.

“I think we just had a discussion, a couple hours ago, and that you’re feelings are...valid, is what Aunt May would probably say. She’s real smart like that. I’m a math guy, but she’s all feelings? But kind of clueless too, which is probably why I can sneak around all the time? It’s really--”

“Spider-Man, can you look after Nathaniel?” Laura interjected, and Tony didn’t have the energy to think about how or why she’d materialized out of thin air.

All of a sudden he felt exhausted, and he couldn’t even summon a quip to throw at Laura as she shanghaied a very confused Spider-Man out of the copilot’s chair to the back of the quinjet, where Lila and Cooper both rejoiced upon seeing their new friend’s return.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Laura murmured.

Tony jolted at the sensation of fingers in his hair, but didn’t uncurl from clutching Ollie. Something in his chest ached and warmed simultaneously, and it was all he could do just to hold onto his dog and not start crying like a baby, for no fucking reason.

Another hand settled between his shoulder blades, and rubbed slow circles that gradually worked at the tension that had lodged there. He couldn’t understand why she was doing it, how she could possibly comfort the man who had gotten her husband thrown in jail.

As if reading his mind, Laura’s voice was only loud enough for the cockpit, and wouldn’t carry further.

“I love my husband, but he’s an idiot. You’ve always done right by us, you’ve taken care of my kids, and _you_ were the one to come save us from Ross. I’m mildly inconvenienced, but I’m not mad. I’m grateful, and I will help you in whatever ways I’m able.”

 

Tony nodded without looking up, sighing as Laura’s fingernails scritched pleasantly against his scalp. He was lulled by the warmth, touch, and presence of another human being, and kept grounded by an amazing dog, who was certainly earning his keep.

“This seems like it should feel humiliating,” Tony slurred, and distantly wondered why he felt as if he were both empty and floating at the same time.

“Hush,” Laura ordered, though there wasn’t any bite. “You were upset, and you’re coming down off the emotions. You’re breathing more deeply, and more oxygen is getting to that brain of yours.”

Tony nodded, because it made sense. He seemed to recall that Laura was some sort of counselor, though it was lost as he focused on the sensations that were helping to ease the roar of panic and failure in his brain, and replacing them with something akin to calm.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, only that Laura and Ollie possessed the combined patience of saints. When Tony finally uncurled, Ollie licked his fingers, then stretched in a languorous way that only dogs can. He plopped down between the seats, content to doze while Laura settled into the copilot’s chair.

Her expression said Tony wasn’t going to get out of an explanation, but FRIDAY was oh so convenient in her timing when she announced they’d be landing in ten minutes.

“I know a man trying to weasel out of an explanation when I see one, Tony Stark,” Laura accused, pointing at him for good measure. “Don’t think this is over. We’re helping each other, got that?”

Tony blinked, then nodded.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. You can have your Spiderling back. He’s a good babysitter. What nursery did you nab him from?”

She must have seen something in Tony’s expression, because she raised her hands in defeat then stood and picked her way around Ollie’s unmoving form.

“Okay, okay. I think we’re all stressed. One step at a time.”

Tony watched her go, and smiled slightly at the desperate handoff of the tiniest agent as Peter practically flung himself back to the copilot’s chair to escape Nathaniel’s grubby little clutches.

“I hope _you_ feel better, Mr. Stark,” Peter griped, sitting in the chair with his knees drawn up in a decided pout. “I had to change a diaper. It was _gross_.”

“You’re the true hero today, Spider-Man,” Tony drawled, taking the controls back from FRIDAY. Though honestly, better Peter than him on that front.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are love! ♥


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